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A Good Appetite

John Ragusa

    Because I love food, I was eager to dine at Brandley’s Restaurant. My friend Scotty recommended the place.
    “You like seafood, don’t you, Allen?” he asked.
    “Yes, indeed,” I replied. “Oysters on the half shell are my favorite.”
    “I don’t care for raw oysters myself,” Scotty said. “I prefer them fried. With a thick hot sauce, they are superb! Anyway, I suggest that you go to a seafood restaurant called Brandley’s. It has the best food I’ve ever tasted.”
    “It’s that good, huh?”
    “You bet. Every bite tasted like more.”
    “Are the prices reasonable?”
    “Yes. The atmosphere is nice, too.”
    “How’s the service?”
    “It’s top-notch. Stop over at Brandley’s and try their cuisine. You’ll be pleased with it.”
    “I’ll go there the first chance I get,” I said.
    “You’ll be glad you took my advice,” Scotty said.

* * *

    I enjoy eating more than anything. I do it whether I’m hungry
    or not. I like all kinds of food, no matter how it’s served.
    As you’ve probably guessed, my size is enormous. I know it’s not good for my health to eat so much, but I can’t help myself. The urge to consume food is overwhelming. My weight increases the chances for a heart attack and diabetes, but I couldn’t go on a diet if I tried. My appetite is always big.
    I constantly shop for bigger clothes because I gain weight all the time. It costs me a lot of money.
    Every time I have a meal, I go for seconds. I never eat small portions.
    I’ve been an overeater all my life. I suppose it’s because I was given large meals as a child. I ate a lot of candy, too. My sugar intake was considerable.
    Each time I step on the scale, I find that I’ve put on many pounds. I hate to look in the mirror because I keep getting bigger. I swear I look like a whale. When I walk down the street, I huff and puff a great deal.
    Every night I pray to God that I can cut down on the food I eat. Maybe someday I’ll be able to do this.
    Meat has always been my biggest weakness. I could feast on steak every day of the week.
    I’ve been to just about every restaurant in the city. They all serve good food.
    I love desserts of all kinds, especially pies. I’d kill for a good chocolate cream pie.
    My mother was the best cook in the world. She could make any dish scrumptious. Her baked bread was terrific. It was always fresh and moist.
    I went to Brandley’s one weekend. I was looking forward to having a great meal.
    I entered the restaurant. A waiter approached me. “Reservations, sir?”
    “Not tonight,” I said.
    “Follow me, please.”
    He led me to a table and handed me a menu. “I shall return shortly.”
    I studied the contents. I was delighted to find lobster. I also saw baked potato, which I adore, and gumbo, which is always a winner.
    Presently, the waiter came back to take my order. “What will you be having?”
    “I’ll have lobster, a baked potato, gumbo, and draft beer.”
    “Good enough.” He wrote down the order and walked to the kitchen.
    I drank some of my water. I dreaded the thought of the added pounds I’d gain after this meal.
    After a while, the waiter finally arrived with my dinner. It was steaming hot, and there was lots of lobster on my plate. So far, so good.
    After I said grace, I dug in. I must confess I wasn’t bowled over by the quality. The lobster wasn’t tasty. The baked potato was dry and gooey. It swished around in my mouth like quicksand. The gumbo was watery, too.
    I couldn’t wait to tell Scotty how wrong he was about Brandley’s food.

* * *

    “You advised me badly, Scotty,” I told him the next day. “You gave Brandley’s a rave review. Well, I went there and tried their food. It was absolutely awful.”
    “You’re kidding me!”
    “No, I’m serious. It was totally tasteless.”
    “That surprises me. I loved their meals.”
    “They didn’t impress me at all.”
    “I’m sorry for recommending them.”
    “Forget it. I just won’t go there again.”

* * *

    I ran into Scotty the following week.
    “I went over to Brandley’s and told them how you felt about their cooking,” he said. “They were stunned. They promised that they would cook better food from now on. Why don’t you give them another chance, Allen?”
    I sighed. “All right. I’ll try them again. But if they haven’t improved, I’ll let them know about it.”

* * *

    When I arrived at Brandley’s that evening, the place was packed with people. Judging by the way they were attacking their plates, I figured they loved the food.
    A waiter found me a table after 20 minutes. I was already getting impatient. I didn’t think I’d enjoy myself any more than I did the last time.
    I ordered a seafood platter and iced tea.
    This time, I couldn’t believe my taste buds. I had never eaten anything so good before!
    Suddenly, Scotty came in and ran to my table. “Allen, I must tell you something,” he said urgently.
    “What is it?”
    “I know why Brandley’s food is so much better than before. A chef here told me that they now use voodoo to make their meals taste delicious.”
    “That’s absurd, Scotty!”
    “It’s the truth. And that’s not all. The magic potion is deadly.”
    “Is it poisonous?”
    “No. It makes the food so good, a person can’t stop eating it. He goes on consuming it until he dies.”
    I didn’t believe that at first, but now I do. I haven’t been able to stop eating Brandley’s food. I keep ordering more and more.
    “Waiter,” I said, “bring me a big dish of chocolate cream pie, please.”

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